Fidelity
by iamladyhope
Summary: I enter a large clearing. Before me stands the Tree of All Souls. The last time I was here, I could hear the wind whispering my name through its branches, felt its leaves trail across my tear-stained cheeks. Now, the tree stands tall and silent and empty.
1. Prologue

**_Disclaimer: I am not Libba Bray. The majority of these characters are not mine. _**

**August 9, 1895**

It has been three weeks since I arrived in America. The voyage here was rough, leaving me doubled over a pail for most of my seasick journey, but the steadiness of dry land has not settled my stomach. I have visited the college nurse, but she has had no explanation for my queasiness and no herbal tea has remedied my persistent nausea. This morning, I looked in the mirror and noticed that my face was rounder, my hips fuller. Upon further inspection, my dresses all fit tighter as well. I have not been able to eat, how am I not gaunt as a skeleton?

A final bout of vomiting has me taking a cab to the nearest doctor, who checks me over. I do not exhibit any symptoms of a cold or influenza, so he is perplexed. Finally, he asks me with a tilt of his head, "Miss Doyle, if I may be so bold, is there any possibility of pregnancy?"

My heart stops. My memory races back to the day Kartik and I visited the realms, the hours we spent in the Caves of Sighs. Is it possible that I could be with child? The mere thought has me dashing to the bin in the corner, whether from anxiety or sickness I cannot say. I have only just begun college in America! I am not even seventeen, I can barely support myself, much less a child! The doctor pats my shoulder lightly, scribbling on a pad of paper. He sends me to a doctor down the road, a Dr. Kittredge, a female doctor. I thank him and blush my way out the door.

I duck inside the Dr. Kittredge's office, avoiding the glares of the respectable ladies outside, who whisper at the scandal of such a young girl having need of such a place. The receptionist sends me straight back to an examination room. I see the shake of her head and the _tut tut_ she makes from the corner of my eye as I close the door behind me, resisting the strong urge to cry. I take a seat on the examination table and wish my mother were here.

Dr. Kittredge is a slender woman with honey blonde hair to her shoulders. Her face is warm and friendly and I am grateful, for I am a nervous wreck as it is. She assures me that everything will be all right and runs a few tests. After nearly an hour of staring into my lap and twiddling my thumbs, Dr. Kittredge returns.

"Miss Doyle, the test results are back. Come January, you will be a mother." I feel as if I should do something, weep, faint, but all I can do is stare blankly ahead. I feel Dr. Kittredge's hand on my shoulder. "I understand that this is difficult for a woman in your position Miss Doyle, but rest assured that I will be with you every step of this process." Her smile is soothing, and I find myself nodding in response. She tells me to return in two weeks and gives me a box of small, round pills for my nausea. I thank her and, slightly glassy-eyed, leave the office in a haze.

* * *

**October 21, 1985**

I have been feeling kicks for weeks. As I sat brushing my hair in front of my small mirror before bed one night, I felt a small nudge in my steadily growing stomach. The mixture of emotions had me crying into my pillow for at least an hour.

I am six months along now. Six months have passed since the final battle in the Winterlands. Four since I decided to keep this surprise child. The first few weeks with the knowledge of my pregnancy were, of course painful. The pain of Kartik's loss was and is still fresh, and I heavily weighed my options, as a single girl of not even eighteen years. But this baby has been a welcome reminder of Kartik. How better to carry on his memory than to bring a part of him into the world?

I am, of course, fearful of the days to come, for I already receive strange glances and hear whispers as I pass on the street, and I am clueless to the unknowns of motherhood. But I have overcome so much that their words have no power. Perhaps this child shall be a new, beautiful chapter in my life.

And it is my choice to embrace it, come what may.

* * *

**January 8, 1896**

This morning, as I was about to leave my small apartment to walk to my job down the block, I felt a strong pain in my abdomen. It left me breathless, gripping my bed frame for dear life. I called for the housekeeper, who called Dr. Kittredge from her office. Her face is gentle as usual, but lined with grim determination. She, with some help from our nursemaids, finds me a comfortable position on my bed, as comfortable as comfortable can be at the moment. I am terrified, but I will not let myself show it. I am Gemma Doyle and I am strong.

After hours of pushing and sweating and crying, my pain is finally over, and I fall limp in exhaustion. I hear a small crying sound and my heart swells. I open my eyes to Dr. Kittredge's beaming grin.

"Congratulations, Gemma. It's a boy." A boy. He has been wrapped in a soft blanket, only his face and tiny fingers emerging from the cloth. She places him gently in my arms and I drink him in. His skin is the crisp golden brown of dosa and it brings tears to my eyes. He coos softly, stretching his tiny fingers to grasp at the air. His eyes open and reflecting back at me are two perfect brown pupils flecked with gold. My breath catches in my throat. I rest my forehead against his and weep. It does not matter that I am friendless and alone in this moment, for I have him and he is all I shall ever need.

"We must give him a bath," Dr. Kittredge says softly. "But first, do you have a name for him?" I had not thought of a name, truthfully. As a priestess, I had counted on having a girl, but I am no less grateful for my son.

"Henry," I whisper, tasting the name on my tongue. I like it. "I shall name him Henry." I plant a kiss on his tiny forehead. He is so small, so delicate, so like his father that I ache. He is perfect.

"Henry Doyle. It is a lovely name." Dr. Kittredge removes him from my grasp and I watch as they clean him and measure him. He cries softly until he is back in my arms and this pleases me. I watch him full of awe as he slowly drifts to sleep in my arms. He reminds me so much of Kartik that it hurts. If only he could be here to witness this single moment. He would be so proud of us both.

For a moment, a surge of panic seizes my chest. What if I am a terrible mother? What if I cannot provide for Henry, what if I must leave school to care for him? He coos softly in sleep, his hand stretching up. I offer him my smallest finger and his curl into a fist around it. This one gesture is enough to reassure me that though I have even less maternal experience than I have guidance, I shall do everything possible to be the mother Henry deserves. If I do anything right in my life, I want it to be Henry.

Dr. Kittredge offers to stay the night with me, allowing me to get some much-needed rest while she cares for Henry and I accept.

When I sleep, I dream. I have not dreamed of Kartik in some time, but I welcome the panging ache of his loss with a new edge of excitement. He awaits me on the far shore, as I always see him. He smiles. "It is a boy," I say, though I know he cannot hear me. "He is perfect. Thank you." Kartik nods, places his hand over his heart. I do the same. "I love you, too," I whisper.

Then I am suddenly awakened by a wayward cry and my days as a mother have begun.

**So this was probably pretty whatever, but I promise, you'll wanna keep reading. Things are about to get really interesting!**


	2. Chapter 1: Hello

_**Disclaimer: None of these places, names, characters, etc are mine. Though I wish Kartik was. **_

**May 6, 1899**

Carrying my bag in one hand and grasping Henry's with the other, I march up the steps to Spence Academy for Young Ladies. The old beast looks just the same as she did when I left, if not better. She is an oddly welcome sight. The ladies here do not know I am coming, for I have traveled straight here as a surprise to them. My grandmother believes my train arrives in London in a week's time, but I have duties here first. I lift the knocker, my gaze scanning the rows of windows until I find my own. In the ivy beneath my old window there is a spot of color and the breath is nearly knocked out of me. Could it be? It's impossible. My heart sinks at the cruel reminder tied in the leaves.

"Mama, aren't you going to knock?" A small tug on my arm breaks me out of my reverie. I smile down at Henry.

"Would you like to?" He nods emphatically and I swing him up into my arms, letting him lean forward to bang the knocker against the door thrice. He wiggles and I let him down, where he bounces with excitement, his dark curls bouncing with him. I am so enraptured by my boy that I barely hear the door open and the gasp that comes from the old housekeeper.

"Why, by awl the saints, if it ain't Miss Doyle!" Brigid cries, throwing her arms about me. "Ya come so unexpected! Are ya back from university?"

"Dear old Brigid, that I am!" I laugh, embracing her. Brigid stops suddenly, noticing Henry at my side.

"And who might this young lad be?" Henry darts behind my skirt, peeking out at the robust housekeeper shyly.

"This would be my son, Henry." Brigid's face thaws in shock as she registers my reply.

"Oh my," she breathes. "Isn't he a purty thing?" Henry takes my hand, stepping slowly out from behind me. Brigid shakes her head, ushering us inside. "Where are my manners? The missus will be more than glad to see ya, surely! I'll see you into the parlor."

The parlor has not changed a bit. Henry climbs up onto a chair, removing from his pocket the top I bought him before we left America and spinning it on the end table beside him. As I sit and gaze around, I remember Tom sitting in the chair opposite mine the last time he visited me. I can practically hear McCleethy's commanding voice as she fought tooth and nail for the magic the day of the battle. It is melancholy, but welcoming. Now I am here for a different purpose, but Spence is still home. Now that I have graduated university, the time has come for the realms creatures and I to come together to create a constitution for the realms, and I am making good on my promise to return.

I hear a faint whistling sound down the hall, followed by footsteps around the corner. That could not possibly be Nightwing whistling such a jolly tune, could it? If it is, I shall promptly fall out of my chair and onto the floor. The door opens quickly, causing me to jump in my seat.

"Lillian?" That voice is familiar. It raises gooseflesh on my skin. It can't be. I stand, facing the open door, where I am greeted by a shock to match all others. My knees grow weak and I put a hand out onto the table, catching myself as my head spins wildly.

Kartik stands just inside the open door, his eyes wide, his jaw dropped in awe.

* * *

The silence in the room is deafening. The only sounds I can hear are the ticking of the clock on the mantel and the beating of my own heart. Is he really here? So many words bubble to my tongue but I am speechless, stunned. Somewhere in my chest, a painful throb erupts. He gapes at me, unblinking.

"Hello again," he finally says. His voice hits me with the force of a freight train. It truly is him. This is no vision. My eyes well with tears.

I myself can barely decipher my broken whisper of a reply, "Hello." We stand in silence again. My chest shudders with the effort of breathing. He stands straight, breaking our gaze and staring at the floor, shifting uncomfortably as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"It is a…surprise to see you here," he says.

"I might say the same," is all I can say. He winces. I want to ask him how he is here, why I did not hear from him, why he did not come to me, but all I can do is battle with myself internally. He is here, but what does that mean?

A high-pitched cough from behind me snaps Kartik out of his slumped position. His neck cranes to see behind me and I fear he will faint when his eyes find the boy smiling at the top spinning silently on the end table.

"And…who is this?" he breathes, his eyes not leaving the child.

"This is Henry," I whisper. "My son." Kartik's eyes are nearly popping out of his skull. He leans against the wall, steadying himself.

"How…how old is he?"

"Three." He breathes slowly, in, out. "You cannot deny that he is yours."

"I cannot." A silent tear slips down my cheek. My face is hot and my hands shake at my sides. I want to speak, to say his name, anything, but I cannot say it. "I-"

"Ah, Miss Doyle!" Mrs. Nightwing brushes around the corner, sweeping me into an embrace the likes of which I was not aware she was capable.

"Mrs. Nightwing, how wonderful to see you," I smile, still shaken.

"Oh please, I have told you, call me Lillian." She holds me at arms length. "My have you grown! It is so good to see you." Henry drops the top onto the table again, creating a dull thud that attracts Nightwing's hawk-like senses. "I was not aware you had a charge, Miss-"

"Oh no," I stop her. "Darling, will you come here a moment?" I beckon to Henry, but a glance behind Nightwing's shoulder shows that Kartik is still there, frozen in shock. Henry obediently joins me at my side. "Mrs. N-Lillian, this is my son, Henry Doyle. Henry, this is Spence's headmistress, Mrs. Nightwing."

"How do you do?" Henry nods politely. That's my boy.

Shock flickers across her face, followed by confusion, then, just as fast as they appeared, they are replaced by the familiar stony headmistress expression I know so well. "My many congratulations, Miss Doyle," she says. "The gift of a child is a precious one, indeed."

I meet Kartik's eye. "It certainly is." Puzzled, Nightwing turns to see where I am looking. She blanches when she sees Kartik there.

"Ah, I see you two have already been…reacquainted."

"We have indeed. And there is much to be discussed. I hate to leave your company so soon, but might you entertain Henry for a moment while I have a discussion with our friend here? Henry loves books, a trip to the library would please him well enough." Nightwing glances at me apprehensively. "Please, Lillian," I beg quietly. After a moment of silent contemplation, Mrs. Nightwing gives a curt nod.

"Henry, why don't I show you the library? I'm sure we can find a book to keep you company." Henry looks up at me.

"It's all right, dearest. If you are safe with anyone, it is Mrs. Nightwing. I shall come find you in just a moment, you go on." Mrs. Nightwing guides him out the door and they disappear down the hall. Kartik and I are left alone. He steps forward.

"Gemma, I can-" I put up a hand, silencing him.

"How?" I ask. I shall begin with simple questions. Kartik sighs and gestures for me to sit, which I gladly do. He paces back and forth in front of the fireplace.

"Not long after I entered the tree, I began storing magic, taking some from the ground and filling the tree with it, replacing its need for me. Once the tree was once again filled, this time with natural magic, I was ejected from it. My sacrifice was no longer needed, so I returned here."

"Why did you not come to me?" My voice is hard. My hands tremble in fists in my lap.

"Gemma, I-"

I stand abruptly. "It has been four years. I have mourned you for four years, raised a child on low wages on my own, all while attending university and working a job in a foreign country. I needed you." Kartik is calm.

"I know that now, and I am sorry." He takes a step toward me and I sit back in my seat, turning my head away from him to watch the dust motes float in the light from the window.

"Then why have I not heard from you?" Tears once again bubble up, obstructing my vision. Kartik sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

"It is improper to arrive here unannounced. You should have written." Though I must admit this stings a little, I am tempted to scoff at this. Someone has been spending too much time with old Nightwing.

"Would you have been here if I had?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Of course I would, Gemma, but Henry?" He begins pacing again, and I'm afraid he may wear a groove in the floorboards.

"He is your son, Kartik. Our son. He needs a father and I thought he might never have one, but now that you're back-"

Kartik stops, blanches. "I was prepared to leave here with you when you returned, but to return and ask me to be a father? That is a lot to ask, Gemma, even for you." I stand, coming face to face with him.

"That child," I say slowly, gesturing to the door behind me, "is your flesh and blood. I have spent the last three years raising him alone. Know, Kartik, that if I leave here with anyone, it will be him." Kartik's jaw tightens. With a huff, Kartik breaks away and heads for the door.

"I need to be alone," he says.

"Where are you going? We are most certainly not done here, Kartik!"

He stops at the door, appraises me with a look of frazzled exhaustion. "This is a lot to consider. I will find you when I am ready." And with that, he is gone again. It is all I can do to stomp my foot like a child, fall into the nearest chair, and cry.

* * *

**Thanks to Randomcat100 for the review! Sorry I didn't update for a while, college is a time. I already have SO much of this story written and ready to post, and the more you guys review the more I'll post! **

**Kartik rocks my socks,**

**Lady Hope**


	3. Chapter 2: Discourse

**_Disclaimer: Everything but the plotline belongs to Libba Bray, who declared herself my crazy Aunt Libba with red lipstick and a fez on twitter once. True facts. Also, this chapter is a little longer. Heyo. _**

In the library, Henry can be found curled in a chair with a small picture book by a nearby maid, who I assume is there to watch him as she dusts the shelves. Thought most of the books found here are for young ladies, Mrs. Nightwing seems to have expanded her horizons past literature solely written to put entire classes of schoolgirls to sleep and acquired some books for mere pleasure for the younger girls.

"Mama!" Henry smiles when he sees me. "Mrs. Nightwing gave me this!" The book is small and very colorful.

"Did she? Did you thank her?" I put my hands on my hips playfully.

"Yes!" He giggles as I tickle his stomach lightly. I take his hand and help him off the chair.

"Shall I show you where I used to stay?" For a while, we roam around the old lady that is Spence. I allow him to peek into my old room, which is now occupied by a new scholarship student. I show him the East Wing, the rose garden, and tell him stories of my days as a schoolgirl. He very much enjoys hearing stories of Felicity and Ann and I as girls, though he has not yet met them.

Henry strays from my grasp, plucking a particularly lame rosebud from its bush. "Mummy, who was that man?" He tucks the rosebud into his hair and I chuckle.

"He is...an old friend." Henry plucks another rose, bounding over to me with a grin on his face. He offers it to me and I accept, tucking it into my curls just like his.

"He looks just like me!" You have no idea, dear one.

"He does. Perhaps he will come back and you can meet him." I scan the line of trees and see nothing out of the ordinary. The stables are quiet. It is just like Kartik to run off. Who knows when he will be back? I must trust him. Can I still?

* * *

The rest of the evening is spent in the great room with Mrs. Nightwing, Lillian, who feeds me details of the lives of our friends. Mademoiselle LeFarge—now Madame Kent—is living a happy life in London with the inspector and writes often. They are expecting their first child soon and I cannot be more thrilled for the two. The ghastly Cecily Temple met the son of a Baron during her season and their engagement was announced not a month later. Elizabeth and Martha met similar fates, and I cannot say I am surprised in the slightest.

She asks after my father and my friends, and I tell her that India has been treating my father well. His letters sound jollier and jollier with every passing week and his consumption, we hope, is nearly a thing of the past. Felicity is, of course, happily tucked away in the bustling city of Paris, but I already hear from her often. Ann is regularly playing at the Gaiety and is currently in rehearsals for Hamlet in the role of Ophelia. I tell her of my university days, of America, and she is overjoyed, if such a word can be said of Mrs. Nightwing, to hear of my success after Spence.

Before I left America, I wrote Ann and Fee, telling them of my plans to unite the realms. They were both eager to help and will be arriving tomorrow. I cannot wait to see them, for venturing into realms business without the two of them at my side is unthinkable. And of course, it will be wonderful to see my friends again after four long years apart.

"And what of the realms?" I ask quietly.

Lillian shakes her head. "I have heard nothing, seen nothing. Spence has been remarkably quiet since your debut, Miss Doyle." We both laugh. Henry, who scrambled off my lap long ago, has been warmly adopted by a few of the older girls, who are teaching him to curtsy. It is quite a sight. It seems that my lack of grace is so prominent that it is hereditary.

"The child," Lillian begins, "is he…"

"Kartik's? He is, indeed." Nightwing blushes, but gives no other noticeable reaction.

"He is quite remarkable." Henry curtsies low and stumbles into a small blonde ringleted girl, who tuts and corrects his form.

"He is, isn't he?" I muse aloud. Henry straightens from another failed curtsy and rubs his eyes, a yawn of magnanimous proportions contorting his features.

"Oh no, someone is looking ready for bed," I say, sweeping into the mix of girls to the boy in the middle.

"I'm not tired," he protests, fighting another yawn.

"Of course not, dear." I hold out my arms and he is willingly swept up onto my hip. His head immediately falls onto my shoulder. "You've had enough excitement for one day, I daresay. Say goodnight to the lovely girls." They all wave and say their goodnights to Henry, who waves sleepily, already wavering between the lands of consciousness and sleep. I carry him back to Nightwing, who rises.

"I will escort you to the visitor's suite." Mrs. Nightwing leaves the girls under the charge of Brigid, who begins ushering them toward bed.

The visitor's suite is on the third floor and is quite spacious. Henry and I will both have a bed, though I am sure he will ask to sleep with me, as he frequently does. "The privy is down the hall and your things are by the wardrobe. We may discuss more pressing matters tomorrow. Until then, I trust you will have a pleasant night's sleep," Mrs. Nightwing says in the familiar drone I find I have come to miss. "Goodnight. And Miss Doyle?" I stop and turn, careful not to jostle Henry. "It truly is delightful to see you again." She gives me a small smile before closing the door quietly behind her. No matter how old I grow, I fear I will never quite grow used to seeing old Nightwing smile.

I set Henry down and he teeters precariously, stretching his tired limbs as I pull open the old window, letting the English breeze in to cool the room. I half-heartedly hope Kartik will see the open window and return, but there is no sign of him on the dew-encrusted lawn. He is no longer the lantern-bearing boy I once knew. I find our bags by the wardrobe, just as Nightwing said, and open Henry's to find his nightclothes. I help him change out of his day clothes and he talks to me softly.

"Alright little prince, it's time to put you to bed."

"May I sleep with you?" he asks, putting his arms up so that I may slip his shirt on over his head.

"Of course you can." I smile, kissing his forehead and hoisting him up into bed. I undress myself, relieving myself of my corset at last, and shrug on my nightdress, crawling in bed beside Henry. He tucks his head under my chin and I cannot help the tears that slide down my cheeks in the dark.

"I love you," Henry whispers.

"I love you more, my precious boy."

With Henry fast asleep in my arms, I finally allow myself to really cry for the first time in months. Four years ago today, I lost Kartik. Today, I got him back. But if he will not accept the both of us, I will leave here just as I came and I will not allow myself to look back with regret. Henry is my life now, and I will not allow Kartik's headstrong stubbornness to come between us.

* * *

The morning comes all too soon. I bury my face in Henry's mess of curls, futilely attempting to block out the sunlight streaming in the window. As I come to, I remember where I am. It is so strange to be back at Spence and not to wake up in my old bed. Henry stirs lightly in my arms and I clutch him closer. The sound of his slow breathing is soothing. I spent many nights in America getting no sleep, plagued with the fears of a new mother. I would stand over Henry's crib for hours, watching him sleep, praying to any god that would listen for his safety. Surely I had lost enough, I told myself. I would not lose Henry.

And then there is Kartik. Was he really here? What if he does not return, and he was merely a vision, or a hallucination, something I dreamed up in my desperation for it to be true? Or worse, what if he does, in fact, return and has no desire to be a part of Henry's life? Should I tell Henry of Kartik? Tell him that was, in fact, his father? That he does not want him? No, for that would surely break his heart. I must be strong for him. I have spent three years playing both mother and father, Kartik's choice is no matter. I do not need him.

Once I am mentally braced for the day, I rouse Henry for breakfast. I am surprised to find that Spence's cooking is still as dreadful as ever. I, however, remain thankful, for I spent many days working on an empty stomach so that Henry may eat. We sit with Mrs. Nightwing as her personal guests and I could not be more grateful to her for her hospitality. We make polite conversation, occasionally interrupted by her chastising a girl for her manners. Always take small bites, never speak with your mouth full. Even Henry is particularly mindful so as to not incur her wrath.

Nightwing turns to me, an air of discretion about her. "I understand that you are here to discuss the realms, Miss Doyle. Perhaps we should extend an invitation to Kartik to join us-"

"That is not necessary," I tell her frankly, placing my utensils on my empty plate. "Kartik has expressed no interest in being involved. Shall we say we meet at two? Henry shall have a great need for a nap then and we might find some peace." Mrs. Nightwing regards me coolly for my avoidance of discussion of Kartik, but she reluctantly agrees.

As it is a Sunday, the girls are released from breakfast to partake in the morning's chapel service. I am invited and choose to attend out of respect for the school. Henry positively fidgets his way through the service, unsure what to think of the strict rituals followed by the room of girls bored stiff in their pews. I follow along, but soon enough slide Henry a stray page of my hymnal and a pencil, by which he immediately is occupied.

As we leave, I say my first true prayer of the day, which is thanks for being released from that dreadful service. Several girls skip past us on the path to the school and a small group of particularly lively girls stops to walk with Henry and I.

"Miss Doyle," the middle of the three asks, "as it is our free afternoon, my friends and I were wondering if Henry would like to join us for a game of blind man's buff on the lawn! We would so love to play with him!" Her friends join in with joyful pleading and I laugh.

"Henry, would you like to play?" He nods grandly. "Go on, then. I'll be right behind you." The girls thank me and run up the path calling for Henry to follow. He toddles behind them on his small legs. "Do be careful!" I shout after him.

I am left at the end of the pack. The long walk from the chapel to the school is no longer a nanny's tale in itself. The woods are empty of terrors now and the knowledge itself gives me peace.

"Hello." I jump as a sudden presence at my side catches me off guard. It is Kartik.

"Hello," I reply curtly, training my eyes on the path before me. Kartik grabs my shoulder and stops me, turning me to face him.

"Gemma, I have been thinking." He glances around us, noting how close we are to the school now. Small clusters of young girls traipse around not far from where we stand, hidden by the trees. "Shall we go somewhere more private to talk?"

I plant my feet solidly. "If you would like to talk, this is as fine a place as any." He gazes at me with pleading in his eyes. "I'm not a schoolgirl anymore, Kartik. You cannot simply whisk me away to the boathouse whenever you wish. I have Henry to account for now." The girls shriek, running away from Henry, who follows them in hot pursuit. "He has your eyes."

"He has your mouth," he replies with a soft smile in his voice. I turn back to him. "I have thought about it, and I will do whatever it takes to convince you that I am prepared to be a part of Henry's life." The breath I didn't know I was holding leaves me in a silent whoosh. Tears sting my eyes. "I am sorry I left. I know it must have hurt you-"

"It did," I interrupt. "Losing you once was painful, but having you walk out again…"

"I'm sorry," he repeats. He offers me his hand and I take it.

"I forgive you." We stand in silence for a moment, digesting the moment.

He watches as Henry tags one of the smaller girls, gleefully making himself scarce as she comes after him with a wide grin. "You're right. Henry does need a father. And it is high time he got one." His voice is steady and sure, and it is reassuring. Our eyes meet. "If you will have me, I will be there. I want to be a part of Henry's life. And yours." I squeeze his hand.

"Of course I will have you." He smiles and lightly tugs on my arm, pulling me to his chest, where he holds me for a moment. It has been years since I have been shown such affection. The last time someone held me was the second time I stumbled into Dr. Kittredge's office, a hysterical pregnant girl of seventeen, scared and alone and in need of guidance. She took me into her embrace, letting me cry against the pristine white of her jacket until I could cry no more.

But in Kartik's arms, I do not cry. For once, I feel safe and secure. I do not need to worry so for Henry's sake, for I am no longer alone.

* * *

**I figured I'd just go ahead and post this because why not? I'm hoping that this story maybe revives what is left of the semi-dead Gemma Doyle fanbase. Nobody posts stories anymore. These are dark times for us. **

**More reviews means more Kartik!**

**Lady Hope**


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